


La Vita Nuova

by darkpriestess



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, birthday headcannons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpriestess/pseuds/darkpriestess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Birthday Slippy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Vita Nuova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damnslippyplanet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/gifts).



They’re always careful to celebrate the birthdays listed on their fake identities publicly. Fancy dinners at the finest restaurants, the best seats at the opera, both of them dressed to the nines and dizzy with champagne and lingering kisses. A show, for anyone who might be looking-just a rich playboy and his  adoring, wide eyed husband. There is a deliberateness to these evenings, a thrill in playing a role; Hannibal loves seeing Will like this, clean shaven, his hard edges softened to something younger, more vulnerable, and Will indulges him.  His acting skills shouldn’t be a surprise by this time, but somehow Hannibal still finds himself enchanted.

Their actual birthdays are a little different.

Hannibal had once suggested hopefully that they could go hunting on their real birthdays, slip through the dark streets of the city and bring back someone for dinner, but Will had vetoed the idea sharply, pointing out that they were trying to avoid attention and elaborate murders occurring on the birthday of either party would bring down the authorities in short order. They are still on the FBI’s most wanted list after all, and while their chosen country may not extradite to the US, nor would they appreciate _los leones_ prowling so blatantly in their midst. Hannibal had sulked for the better part of a week, but he had to admit to himself that he had less desire now to leave the police elaborate tableaus in an effort to be seen. _Will_ saw him and Hannibal no longer wanted to perform for anyone else, least of all some sweaty palmed _policía_ who would completely fail to understand the beauty and significance of the gift in front of him.

On their actual birthdays-murder being off the dining table as it were-they rise early and take the boat out for the day, the dogs in tow if it’s Will’s birthday, on their own if it’s Hannibal’s. Some birthdays they can lie naked on the deck, soaking up the sun miles from shore, and some birthdays they can’t even leave port, huddling in the cabin from the wind and rain, wrapped in blankets and soft whispers, spinning tales of the undeserving in some foreign city, their victims’ lives already forfeit years in advance.

Will always promises to catch their supper, but Hannibal invariably manages to finds better uses for his time and hands. They are still dizzy with champagne and kisses, but here there is no pretence, no playacting, just the curve of Will’s throat and the taste of salt on his lips. and the unspoken memory of their first kiss on this same deck, many years ago now.  They take each other apart wordlessly, storm clouds and sun and stars whirling overhead, cradled by the sea that birthed them into their new life.


End file.
